The Flow of Water

Years of no movement are abrupted by a single instance where in the water streams in a new direction.

Submitted:Dec 11, 2011
Reads: 68
Comments: 16
Likes: 8

Dear Diary,

A new today was merely like any other day before. Nothing
special, especially nothing at all.

The sky hanging over my sunken head was blue, with tints of blue
and shades of still more blue. The sun played hide and seek with
the clouds, getting caught every so often.The grass was green,
with a peppered appearance from a conglomeration of colors (of
all the animals gleefully buzzing around). Just another familiar
day in the routine life of a common human being on this
un-evolutionary earth - who, for the purposes of this essay, may
remain unnamed because a name really wouldn't make a difference.
Ultimately, there was nothing wrong with today. Nothing right
with today, either.

* * * * * *

Today was extra ordinary, or that was what I thought, until I
stumbled across the saddest looking little bird outstretched on
an open field. It was a red cardinal, the very cardinal I
distinctly remember seeing only yesterday, as he claimed the
mighty skyline as his own personal oasis.

"Little bird, what's wrong?" The diminutive creature staring
straight upward, into the heavens, gave no response. He seemed
awfully pensive, as if the most depressing thought had struck him
and tranced him under the control of some sort of terrible (but
yet, still serene) spell.

I took a nearby branch and gently tapped the bird on its tender
stomach. As it lay across the grass, it didn't make a move. I
then set the stick on the bird's stomach and hoped to see it
rise, fall, and rise again as the bird inhaled and exhaled air.
There was no movement. I neared my face to its beak and looked
for any sign of life. The little bird was gone. It was too late.

* * * * * *

And all this that we consider a 'life,' what is it exactly? A
rudimentary routine of absolute nothingness punctuated by few,
peculiar instances of progression literally altering everything -
water without movement suddenly eclipsed by the breaking of a dam
and an insurmountable overflow of life. The bird and I only got a
chance to view a small glimpse into the life of one another, but
the bird - in this brief period - had changed me, and at the same
time, I bore witness to death changing the bird's life (letting
me play some role in his life as well).

What are we meant to fill the many spaces, the many moments of
emptiness in between moments of meaning, with? We have friends
and family and the whole world around us acting as a playground
always beckoning us forward to explore life and ourselves - and
for us to do what we will with. What of these are to be included
in the narrative we go on to live and die from?

And this day when that bird died, I felt a change inside of me.
But did anything even change at all? Death, the biggest game
changer, is it just a natural, unnoticed part of life, or does it
indicate the swaying of our internal winds into a whole new
direction?

What more can I say now? I'm speechless, at a loss of words, but
yet I keep on writing. So many questions just keep popping up
into my wind, without corresponding answers. A return to
normality and a revert to a world overfilled with black holes is
inevitable.